


six sentence smuts

by orithea



Series: tumblr prompts and 221bees [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Comeplay, Crossdressing, Face-Fucking, Frottage, M/M, Omega Verse, Public Sex, Rimming, Self-cest, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:45:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orithea/pseuds/orithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a tumblr-based writing exercise. people send me a pairing and a smutty situation and I try to make it work in six sentences. sometimes I get carried away and there are more than six.</p><p>if you ever want to request one, you can <a href="http://johnfuckingwatson.tumblr.com/">find me on tumblr</a> and drop a note in my inbox, and I'll do my best to fill it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from frek: Johnlock, experiment gone wrong.

It was the perfect experiment, designed to test John’s reactions and push his boundaries—useful data for Sherlock to have as needed, of course. He considered the variables before setting the experiment into motion, and was quite sure that his hypothesis would prove correct.

Which is why Sherlock is surprised, genuinely surprised, when barking orders at John ends with  _him_  on his knees in the middle of the sitting room, cheek pressed against the rough denim of John’s jeans. John’s hands brush through his hair gently, then fist into the curls at the base of Sherlock’s neck and tug his head back, and when Sherlock looks up at John through wet lashes, he thinks,  _oh._ Perhaps this experiment was meant to fail from the start.

When John’s cock is in his mouth and Sherlock’s nose is pressed against the soft skin of his belly as he takes him deep—mouth and nose and eyes and mind all full of  _John John John_ —he’s rather pleased that it did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompt: Johnlock, Alleyway

John is usually a patient man, but there are limits to his patience, primarily limits centered around Sherlock Holmes. Particularly since he’d got a taste of what it was like to have Sherlock spread out over his bed under John’s hands and mouth whenever he liked, then had that interrupted by a an entire fucking week of Sherlock of Sherlock focused on a case and uninterested in anything but the work. Now that it’s over, John doesn’t have a shred of patience left in him.

John’s never been so grateful for Sherlock’s intimate knowledge of London’s streets than now, with rough brick pressing into his skin through his shirt and Sherlock against him, long fingers wrapped around both their cocks and stroking with an intensity that makes John think Sherlock hadn’t realised until this moment just how much he’d missed doing this too.

"Should be secluded enough not to attract attention," Sherlock had said when he pulled John into the alleyway. In truth, John had hardly even cared about the thought of being discovered, and he does nothing to stifle the sounds coming out of his mouth as Sherlock strokes him, or the way that he hisses, "fuck  _fuck_ , Sherlock!” as he comes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from wearitcounts: Johnlock, visiting The Parents (whose is up to you).

"For fuck’s sake, was this bed built the same time as the house?" John asks exasperatedly, as another squeak of the frame fills the room in time with the thrust of his hips.

Sherlock tightens his legs around John’s waist and tries to draw him in faster. “It hardly matters. They’re a floor above us, asleep, and we are grown men who are about to be married tomorrow so it’s not as though—”

"I don’t care about them; there’s your bloody brother next door!"

"Oh shut up and  _fuck_ me,” Sherlock says, and the roll of his hips is really all the encouragement that John needs to forget the hazards of having sex in a bed older than either of them combined.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from moriartyisinnocent: do you do johniarty? if so, John betrays Sherlock to "work" with Moriarty.

Sherlock knew that something was off, something in the way that John was unusually agreeable these days, or perhaps the way that there were stretches of time when he was aware that John was not in the flat but also not at work (but had never cared enough to deduce where he actually  _was_ ).

And he’s been stupid, so stupid, not to have noticed. It’s brilliant, really, for all that it hurts (hurts  _there_ ; new; delete later), to know that John was capable of lying to him all along, that John isn’t as loyal as every little detail about him tells Sherlock he should be.

The discovery is all Moriarty, of course, in its execution: Jim tied to Sherlock’s bed, knife in John’s hand so that there’s no question of his having been coerced, John’s initials carved on one hip and Sherlock’s on the other. The scent of sex is heavy in the air and John is deep inside of Jim while his fingers press into the fresh wounds and Jim’s blood mingles with the slick precome leaking from his cock on the concave planes of his belly.

"Bet you never saw this coming," John says, and this time Sherlock knows no one is forcing him to say it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from abbykate: Johnlock. Sherlock hasn't spoken in three days. John reacts.

John generally considers the things that come out of Sherlock’s mouth infuriating, but it turns out that having nothing, absolutely no response at all for going on three days, is even worse.

He breaks when his request that Sherlock actually eat something, or at least move from the sofa today, is met with Sherlock throwing himself dramatically ( _can he do things any other blood fucking way_ , John wonders) onto his front and burrowing his face under the pillow for further sulking. And with that, John is absolutely done.

The slap he lays across Sherlock’s arse leaves a smacking sound reverberating through the room for what feels like an eternity. “If you’re not going to speak, you could at least do something  _useful_  with that mouth,” John says.

Sherlock narrows his eyes and continues in his silence, but he’s on his hands and knees before John’s flies are completely undone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompt: Johnlock...swimming pool (not bombs and Moriarty and snipers, actual swimming with water and trunks and waves).

"I don’t think this is what your client meant when she told you that you were free to use her pool," John says.

"Then she should have been more specific."

John would like to argue. He would like to argue when Sherlock doesn’t have a hand shoved down his swim trunks or his lips against John’s ear utilising his filthiest voice to whisper that he’s always wondered if being underwater would make it any easier for John to ride his cock. He would like to argue whilst not aroused beyond any reasonable level by the idea that they could be caught like this at any minute.

"Fine,  _yes_ ,” John says, “because you always get your way.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from forsciencejohn: Johnlock where one of them has a massive cock and the other one is getting his face fucked and there is hair pulling and gagging and coming on faces. They both absolutely love it. You decide who is who @u@

There are tears leaking from Sherlock’s eyes and he’s fucking  _gorgeous_  like this, with his lips wrapped around John’s cock and looking wrecked with flushed face and wet lashes. John’s hands are in his hair, tugging sharply as he holds Sherlock still and fucks his mouth. John is big, he knows, but Sherlock swallows around him and breathes deep when John pulls back, and takes him back down like it’s what he was built to do, like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be than kneeling in 221b with his mouth full of John.

John likes to come inside Sherlock’s mouth, to feel him gag as John hits the back of his throat and see drool mixing with his come and running down Sherlock’s chin in the aftermath. But Sherlock prefers it this way, so when John gets close he pulls out (reluctantly, immediately missing that tight, wet heat and clever tongue) and slides his hand over his spit-slick cock until he’s there, coming over Sherlock’s lips, his cheekbones, down over his neck where the semen runs down into the dip between his collar bones. Sherlock licks his lips and wipes a hand over his chin, and the look on his face is nothing short of blissfully happy when he takes his own cock in hand.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompt: johnlock smutty angry wall sex because hnnnng

"You’re  _jealous_.”

"Not your most difficult deduction." John has Sherlock’s wrists pinned in one hand across his lower back and his chest pressed against the least horrible wallpaper in the flat (the stripes, in the hallway leading to Sherlock’s room), because John couldn’t be bothered to take the remaining steps to the bed before getting himself inside of Sherlock and reminding him just who it is that he belongs to. "You were flirting."

"She was flirting; I was—"

"Thinking about how to get me to fuck you like this?" John says, slamming his hips forward.

"Obviously," Sherlock says, more moan than word.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from abbykate: Sherlock/Sherlock. FLATMATEverse. "Am I a top or a bottom?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> referring to [The Time Traveller's Flatmate](http://archiveofourown.org/works/654551/chapters/1192324) in which Sherlock time travels and occasionally bumps into himself. Flatmate is my baby and this one needed more than six sentences.

"Am I a top or a bottom?"

"This time? You want me to just answer that and take all the fun out of finding out?" This was two years ago for this Sherlock and he remembers it well: John out of town, taking care of Harry, and he had been in bed taking care of himself—John entirely to blame for this rekindled interest in wanking—when he was joined by himself from the future, looking much older than he liked to consider at the time, with grey shot through the hair around his temples and more lines than he’d remembered ever seeing before. Strange to put that memory together with the moment  _now_  and realise that the difference was only two years. So much happened in such a short period of time to produce this contrast between them—even John would be able to look and tell them apart.

Sherlock is determined not to dwell on it and to enjoy the experience instead. “I think you’d like to top me tonight, wouldn’t you? It’s been so long since you’ve been inside  _him_  and you’re already hard and leaking”—it feels so natural, to slide next to himself in the bed and take his past self’s cock in hand—”and you know it feels good to fuck yourself. You know why John likes it; you were there before he ever was, after all. Do you remember the first time we—”

His past self makes a strangled noise and Sherlock grins against his hair. Of course he remembers. He still hasn’t forgotten it himself.

No one without chrono-displacement can really fathom the experience of meeting yourself throughout different periods of time and what it’s like to come together this way. Who knows and understands you better than yourself? And as much as Sherlock prefers to be with John, all things considered, there’s something special about being on both sides of the experience, to know that you—you in your own past—are the one who’s opening you up, slick finger by finger, feeling your insides twitch around him, whilst years later you feel the burn of being stretched just the way he knows you like it. Of course he does. He’s  _you._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompt: Johnlock, teenlock Omegaverse.

"You smell," John says, "like  _everything_.”

Sherlock whines, long and low, because John’s teeth are pressed into the back of his neck and the shaft of his cock is slipping along the crack of Sherlock’s arse where he feels obscenely wet and open and wanting. Somehow he didn’t realise that it would be like this from the reading they’d been force to do in class, so… sodden and filthy _,_ and completely overwhelming for him, being so used to ignoring the demands of his transport.

"Do it," Sherlock demands, "for God’s sake, John,  _do it_.”

And John does, dutifully: presses Sherlock obscenely, impossibly open when the blunt head of his cock breaches Sherlock’s opening and slips past the screaming stretch of his sphincter muscles and nudges that internal opening deep inside, where nothing—not even his own fingers—has ever touched before.

"Going to knot you," John gasps, and Sherlock shakes beneath him because he can’t even begin to imagine how overwhelming that will be, but he wants it,  _needs it_ , all the same.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from abbykate: Johnlock. Sherlock cuts his hair.
> 
> warning: breathplay

Disappointment is not a look that Sherlock is familiar with finding on John’s face during sex—John looking overwhelmed and gratified he’s quite used to, confused isn’t even particularly unusual, but disappointment is unacceptable.

"What," Sherlock demands, after freeing John’s cock from his mouth with a slick pop.

"I don’t know what to do with my hands," John says, "now that your hair is shorter than mine."

Sherlock resists the temptation to roll his eyes, because John really ought to be used to it by now, nearly forty-eight hours after Sherlock left his snipped curls strewn across the bathroom floor, and because John knew that it was a necessary measure for the case (and just transport, besides), and most importantly, because John’s own short hair has never stopped Sherlock from digging in his fingers and yanking. Instead Sherlock takes John’s hands in his own (slick, covered in his own saliva and John’s precome), places one to cradle the back of his head and the other around his throat, and squeezes down on John’s fingers with his own.

"Sherlock, that’s—"

"Dangerous?" Sherlock says, his voice a challenge, and when he takes John into his mouth again he knows that it’s a challenge John is well up to taking.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from villkanin: Johnlock. John does some illegal substances and Sherlock takes advantage of him. Or vice versa.
> 
> warning: drug use (also that I don't know anything about drugs)

It would take an absolute idiot to miss the signs as the drug begins to take effect—dilated pupils, shallow breathing, the way that John’s speech begins to pick up speed—so Sherlock is fairly pleased when John catches on, and correctly identifies the source.

"Sherlock," John says through pursed lips, "what did you give me."

"Oh, just a mild dose of amphetamines—for a case," Sherlock answers, waving his hand dismissively. "You’re meant to be feeling euphoric now."

"I feel"—John’s hands are clenched tightly and his voice has taken on that note that Sherlock has come to equate with the need to (very quickly) make things right—"that I’d like to slap you, but also that I’d like to press you against the nearest hard surface."

"You could do both," Sherlock says reasonably, because that would make for an even more interesting experiment.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from abbykate: Johnlock. The most expensive hotel room in Stillwater, Oklahoma.
> 
> felt inspired to write well beyond six sentences for this one

"I’m not entirely sure that was worth the plane ride, considering how quickly you solved it." John holds the door to their hotel room open for Sherlock, who saunters in then turns on heel to grin back at John. Without his coat, Sherlock’s post-case flourishes lack a certain flair, which John is just about to comment upon when Sherlock pulls him into the room and presses him against the wall.

Their kiss is long and slow and deep in a way that is entirely unexpected, because cases usually mean adrenaline; Sherlock high on praise and his own quicksilver mind; frantic wanks started on the landing (usually finished inside the flat, but not always) with bitten off kisses, more teeth than anything else. When Sherlock pulls away John can see that his face is flushed, even in the near-dark of the room where the lights of the city stream in through the open curtains.

"Locked room serial murders are  _always_  worth it,” Sherlock mouths against the line of John’s jaw. “No matter how obvious the facts are upon seeing the scene in person.”

John barks out a laugh. “I’ll remind you of that when you’re bored on the flight back.”

"I won’t be bored. I have you."

"Also going to remind you of that one. Hold you to it, in fact." John squirms at the feeling of Sherlock’s smile against his neck and the huff of breath against his skin as Sherlock laughs. "You also have me for the next two days. In what I was informed is a very nice hotel room."

"As long as the sheets are changed, I hardly care."

"Why? Planning to make a mess of them?"

Sherlock’s mouth is suddenly on John’s again, more heated this time as he sucks John’s lower lip between his own and fits their bodies together more closely. John can feel Sherlock half-hard, pressed against him like this, and the thought of having him right there, not even fully inside the room, is too much and John  _needs_ it. He sinks to his knees and says, because he knows that Sherlock likes to hear it, “I want to suck you.”

It’s not the most skilled act of fellatio that John’s ever performed—it’s sloppy, imprecise, and his hand is quickly slick with spit as he works it in time with his mouth over Sherlock’s cock—but it does the fucking trick. It takes just a few minutes before Sherlock is coming down his throat with his hands clenched on John’s shoulders, then he’s down on his knees as well, pulling John into a kiss that makes him groan when he tastes himself on John’s tongue. Sherlock’s hand is on him and  _Christ_  it would be so easy to push down his jeans and pants and let Sherlock pull him off right there, but John wants something more.

"Bed," John gasps out as he pushes Sherlock’s hand away. "I want you on the bed. Clothes off."

Their legs are shaky as they make their way to the bed, shedding clothes along the way. John nearly trips over their suitcase—left here for them earlier in the day—in the dark and curses as he flicks on the nearest light switch. The lamp proves to be a good idea not just for safety purposes but because it lets John have a good look at Sherlock stretched out on the bed, beautifully flushed and naked, and John lets out a little growl of  _want_  as he clambers on top of Sherlock to kiss him again.

Now that John has his hands on him, skin against skin, he knows what he wants, and takes his weight off Sherlock whilst he murmurs, “Over for me, love.”

Sherlock grumbles with annoyance. “I’ve just come, John, I can’t—”

"I  _know_. I’m not going to fuck you. Just. On your belly, please.”

Sherlock complies, and John knows that his only reluctance is because he can’t watch when he’s face down like this, and Sherlock does so love to see John’s face as he comes. He tilts his hips so that his arse is in the air, because he does know what John likes, and John makes an approving noise, spits in his hand, then slicks the head of his cock before leaning down to drag it along the cleft of Sherlock’s arse.

"I’m going to come on you like this," John says as he wanks himself and presses against Sherlock’s skin. There’s just enough spit and precome to prevent too much dragging friction, and with every pass over Sherlock’s hole John dips ever so slightly in towards the center, feeling it twitch and flutter against him.

"Oh," Sherlock says, voice a deep groan. " _Oh_.” If he hadn’t come minutes ago he’d be calling John a tease now, begging him to  _just do it already_  with every press against him. Even now, still too sensitive to really entertain the idea of having John inside him, he flexes invitingly at the pressure against him.

It’s Sherlock’s enthusiasm that does John in, the way that he’s rolling his hips that reminds John of all the times he’s been inside Sherlock before, of frantic post-case fucks in 221b. When John comes it’s in long stripes across Sherlock’s arse and lower back, and as the come slides between Sherlock’s cheeks John dips his finger down to circle against Sherlock’s entrance and press some inside, dragging a filthy groan from each of them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from the-stradivarius: oohhhhh boy. ok. how about John putting a silent vibrator in Sherlock before they leave 221B to go somewhere (could be dinner, a stakeout, a crime scene) and Sherlock has to try not to come and make a mess inside his pants, but John is relentless and keeps teasing him and turning it on and off till Sherlock is pink in the face and sweaty and holding back moans, and can't stand it any longer :3

"John—" Sherlock’s voice is low and broken, and John’s name comes out in a panting breath. "John, I can’t keep going, I can’t—"

"But if you come, Lestrade and everyone else will know." They’re waiting in Lestrade’s office, alone, but John leans in close and whispers anyway. Sherlock knew that they were expected in this morning when he started this little game between them, insisting that John keep him on the edge with his lips on Sherlock’s cock and the vibrator buried in his arse, and he was the one who suggested that they keep it in even when it became obvious that he wouldn’t get to come before they left for NSY.

Sherlock whimpers, goes rigid, and John knows that it might just be the thought that everyone will know that pushes him over the edge.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from amaof221b: Johnlock, locked in a broken walk-in fridge

"You cannot," John says, "be thinking about that right now." Sherlock has gone from sulking on the floor, idly kicking the locked door, to filling John’s lap with all six-plus-feet of himself and setting his teeth right into  _that_  spot which usually has a very profound effect on John’s libido.

"What else do I have to think about?" Sherlock snaps, though it sounds odd and muffled with his face pressed against John’s neck.

"Getting out of here?"

"Lestrade will be here within thirty minutes to let us out. Meanwhile, we’re stuck here and I can’t think of a better way to pass the time," Sherlock says, and when he begins to shift his hips against John slowly, pressing his erection ( _where did that even come from_  John wonders, marveling at the seeming hair trigger of Sherlock’s libido, not for the first time) into the soft flesh of John’s stomach until he relents and pulls Sherlock in for a kiss to speed things along.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from justgot1: John & Sherlock. First meeting. John bums a cigarette off Sherlock. You decide where and why.
> 
> another one that went past six sentences

"You don’t usually smoke," the man (practically a boy, John thinks upon first look at him, but that voice changes his opinion very quickly) says when John asks him for a fag. A lot’s changed since the last time John was in London—a tour of Afghanistan will do that for you—and it’s strange to him, having to huddle outside to have a smoke instead of being strangled by it inside, but it offers a good excuse to get out of the crowd of the pub and into the cool night air.

"No," John admits with a sheepish laugh, "I don’t. I’m a—"

"Doctor, I know. Military doctor, on leave."

"Uniform give me away?" John had come home and gone straight out with Harry, not even bothering to change because she insisted they hit the pub as early as possible. And then she, well. There was a reason he was standing outside instead of in there at the moment.

"Mmm. That and your hands." The man takes a long drag on his cigarette; he has yet to actually offer one to John.

"My hands?"

"Your hands," he confirms, without explanation. "This is my last cigarette, actually, or I’d give you one."

"It’s fine," John says, not pressing him further despite his curiosity about what that means,  _his hands_. “I really shouldn’t anyway. Horrible habit.”

"That’s what everyone says when they’ve forgotten the way it feels to have that first bit of nicotine hit their system. Like your blood is singing." The man looks contemplatively at his cigarette, and then in a seemingly snap decision strides into John’s space. "Wouldn’t do for you not to get that feeling just because I’ve been lighting one off the other for myself."

"What..?" John asks, confused, but then the man is leaning down into John’s space and he understands at once when his lips are so close to John’s that they could brush together if one of them moved forward over the breath’s width that separates them.

"Breathe in," he says, "and hold it." And then his lips are right there, making a seal against John’s own and letting out a slow exhale right into John’s mouth and it  _does_ make John’s blood sing but it’s not the nicotine—it’s the sudden electrifying closeness of what is essentially a kiss with a stranger. And as John begins to exhale and the man begins to pull away it stops being essentially and becomes reality; they are kissing, with John’s hand fisted in dark, soft curls and a strange man’s hand— _such long fingers, Christ_ —on the back of John’s neck right there on a public street. Doesn’t even know the man’s name yet, but John knows he’s an absolutely sinful kisser and that he could easily spend the rest of the night like this.

It’s the other man who pulls away first, with John’s lips still chasing after him, and he laughs a bit breathlessly. “The name’s Sherlock Holmes,” he says, “and I’m nearby. Baker Street.”

It takes a split second for John’s decision. “Oh,  _God_  yes. Let’s go.” He interrupts himself with a laugh. “This is completely mental. John Watson, by the way.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous prompt: johnlock, with make up and blowjobs?!! yeeeee

"What are you—is that lipstick?" John splutters, because, well, obviously it  _is_ —no one could possibly mistake the nature of Sherlock’s mouth, the sharp dip of his cupid’s bow and lush bottom lip, covered in crimson.

"For a case," Sherlock says, eyebrow raised in disdain for the fact that John would even voice the question.

"That is the flimsiest excuse I have ever—"

“ _Fine_ ; the case is your penis and how my mouth will look around it done up like this, if you’re insisting that we be  _truthful_  about what’s going on here,” Sherlock says, sinking onto his knees and making John’s breath catch in his throat, “but I do prefer it when you at least let me pretend that I do these things in the name of science.”

"You can pretend whatever you like, love," John says, because he finds it very easy to be agreeable when Sherlock has deftly flicked open his flies and has his (lipstick covered,  _Christ_ ) mouth pressed against John through the cotton of his pants.

"In that case," Sherlock looks up at John with the sort of grin that a man with more sense of self-preservation than John would probably find alarming, "I’d like to pretend that you’re going to fuck my mouth without holding back, and would like to remind you that it does help the imagination when you play along."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from littlehornet: john/sherlock, showing off new lingerie

"They’re new," Sherlock says, as though John wouldn’t  _know_ that, like he hasn’t completely catalogued every pair of knickers that has ever crossed the threshold of 221b for the express purpose of adorning Sherlock’s person (and when they’re feeling particularly cheeky, John’s).

"I’m aware," John answers, but it doesn’t come out with nearly as much bite as he intended, because he’s tracing the indent of the elastic along Sherlock’s hips, dipping underneath the fabric with the tips of two fingers and following along to the curve of his arse and he’s more than a little awed. He smoothes the palm of his hand over a cheek and suddenly meets skin, which means—

"Peep back. You can leave them on whilst you bury your tongue in my arse."

"I can, can I?" John says sarcastically, but he’s already flipping Sherlock face down onto the sofa and pulling his hips into the air, admiring the cling of black mesh and yellow satin against Sherlock’s curves. He reaches through the hole in the fabric with his thumbs to hold Sherlock open, and at the first touch of John’s tongue sliding over the crack of his arse Sherlock lets out the most  _beautiful_  whimper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like a visual aid, I was picturing [my favorite pair for Sherlock](http://johnfuckingwatson.tumblr.com/post/64262028722/tell-me-these-knickers-dont-make-you-think-of).


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from mishamc: The gentlemen hooking up in a busy pub, if you please.

"Sherlock you can’t just… everyone knows exactly what we’re up to right now." The way John’s hands bite into the skin of Sherlock’s arms, desperate, is at odds with the reticence in his words.

"Arsenal and Chelsea on the telly, corner table—no one is paying attention to us," Sherlock says. His voice is muted against the skin of John’s neck, where he’s paused in making a very promising mark whilst he ghosts his hand over John’s cock under the table.

"Christ, how could they not, though?" John pants, as Sherlock’s grip firms around him.

"They’re idiots—the real show is your  _face_  right now,” Sherlock says, and the low growl of his voice pushes John right to the edge.


End file.
